


Starry eyed child left behind

by crazed_peanut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dreamless Sleep Potion (Harry Potter), Emotional Hurt, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hurt No Comfort, If you don't count Cursed child as Canon, Mentioned Albus Dumbledore, Mentioned Ron Weasley, Mentioned Voldemort (Harry Potter), Nightmares, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Canon, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-War, hurt!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazed_peanut/pseuds/crazed_peanut
Summary: Misery had engulfed him today and had shifted his focus only on what he no longer had. It was a punishment bestowed on him (by whom?) to think of Ginny, of Hedwig, of Lupin and Tonks, and of all the ways he would never again be the boy from five days ago.I also post on harrypottefanfiction.com under JTMoore.
Kudos: 8





	Starry eyed child left behind

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Social cues". Heavily inspired by the folowing lyrics from "The war is over":  
> "I came upon a wise man, he said, "Sit beside me son"  
> "When I was a young man, I was like you, the prodigal son"  
> Safe behind a half-smile, hidin' in the shadows  
> Tell 'em that it's all right, tell 'em 'cause you said so"
> 
> Both songs are Cage the Elephant.

Harry blinked into the light on the fifth day after the battle of Hogwarts. Used to waking up next to Hermione by now, he was momentarily alarmed when she wasn’t there. Her sleeping bag was already neatly packed in the corner.

Harry looked at his watch and judged he had gotten a good three hours of uninterrupted rest, by a stretch a record for the last five nights. He made up his mind to appeal to Madam Pomfrey for a vial of dreamless sleep potion. Perhaps a cauldron. He remembered the first and only time he had drunk the purplish solution- on the night Cedric died, only after he was made to recall the events in painful detail. The memory made him uneasy and he lay there for a few more moments before dressing and heading into the halls of the now deserted castle. All the bodies had been carried out and the families had gone home. Harry didn’t know how wizards mourned the dead. It seemed an inappropriate curiosity and so he kept it to himself. He thought at some point he should ask Ginny. 

It was him and Hermione who lingered in the castle in ruins, among the teachers who lived there. The two of them had been preparing to head to Australia to find Hermione’s parents. Taking a portkey to a different country was tricky business, as it had turned out, and so they waited patiently while McGonagall organized their trip. It was probably where Hermione was now- in McGonagall’s office, smoothing out details. It made him anxious not to know for sure. Harry knew she couldn’t be in danger, but worried whenever they became separated; he had suddenly disliked being alone. Ron had gone home with his family, rightfully so. Some part of Harry felt abandoned, but he did not let himself explore it further. He kept the wretched emotion buried, because he knew how much the Weasleys had suffered only by associating themselves with him. He had brought upon them the death of their son, had inflicted so much misery to them, that they deserved to grieve far away from him.

Harry walked past a toppled statue of an old warlock, half-destroyed by dark magic. He knew that even such carnage would give in to manual labour and so even though he had his wand, he raised it with his bare hands. He had fallen in love with magic when he had first been introduced to it, but now had to finally deal with the reality that this wonderful tool could be misused and turned into a weapon. Not even a week ago he himself had tortured someone. His anger had blinded him when Amycus had spat on McGonagall. The Professor was right, it was foolish of him. Unforgivable curses, Harry thought, are only called that because no person with a shred of kindness in their heart could forgive themselves after performing them. He should have instead disarmed the death eater and beaten him bloody. He felt ashamed.

Harry was halfway through breakfast when a tawny owl swooped in and landed gracefully in front of him. It lifted its leg obediently and afterwards nudged Harry’s hand, who stroked her in appreciation and handed her a piece of his toast. He had been getting countless letters, but this one carried the Ministry’s official stamp. It was from Kingsley, who had become provisional Minister of Magic:

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you are keeping well._

_I wanted to reach out while you were still at Hogwarts, as I was not sure of your plans for the summer. Forgive me if my letter burdens you._

_I am relieved that this war, which we fought together, is now over. You have fulfilled the prophecy of your life in a spectacular way, and I am thankful we landed on the right side of history. My hope is that we shall side by side rebuild our world. There will be a place for you in the Ministry’s Auror office, should you wish to pursue this line of work, one I feel you are destined for._

_So many of the actions the Order has undertaken have been of a clandestine nature, even more so in the last year. We have made impossible decisions along the way, all of them towards the bigger goal; we have fought private battles behind a veil of secrecy. If there is any prize to be claimed, then I believe this to be the categorical recognition of our efforts, and in particular- the acknowledgement of your personal sacrifice. I see but one way to achieve this- we must tell the whole truth. Too many times in the past we were made to conceal our actions and motivations._

_It does not escape me that the Ministry itself has continuously undermined our cause and has tried to discredit us. I agreed to head this institution for the better of all of us. I plan to stand for the truth and nothing less. Nothing shall be concealed or misconstrued. The_ Daily Prophet _will be left to its own and decommissioned as a propaganda machine._ _Currently, there are too_ _many rumours tainting our reputation, or otherwise idolizing us for what we are not. I envision a transparent Ministry of Magic, and so it is the past which should be addressed first. We must admit to our faults and ask forgiveness for our mistakes, while at the same time tell the stories of our fallen brothers and sisters, to whom we are indebted for life. We must rise once again despite our pain, or perhaps with it, to pay tribute._

_There is a big part of this story, Harry, which belongs to you. You dealt the final blow, but not only that- you made it possible. You gave us a reason to believe there was something to fight for, that it was not just aimless resistance. You shouldered the burden for all of us, as a boy. No single man deserves to experience what you have gone through. Older and much wiser wizards would have folded. We were all ready to die for the cause, but you were the only one whose death seemed a certainty. And yet, with the absolute knowledge you were about to meet your maker, you faced the unimaginable with a bravery thus far unmatched._

_Lastly, please allow me a few words on Albus Dumbledore. He loved you and it pained him to know what other wizards only speculated about- that you were the chosen one. He confided in us his desire to keep you away from the spotlight, for the same reason he let you grow up away from our world. He wanted to give you as much of a normal life as you could have had. Despite this, I believe strongly, and I would not be writing this letter otherwise, that the Wizarding world needs your voice. Our new reality is mere days young. It is responsive to influence, and it is impossible to overstate how important it is that your truth is put out there as one of its first building blocks._

_In the coming week I will be addressing our nation. I ask of you a great favour, conscious that it requires you to trust me as Minister of Magic: please join me in my effort to give hope and light to our kind._

_I look forward to your owl._

_Yours,_

_Kingsley_

Harry reread the letter before folding it away. When stripped from Kingsley’s friendly tone, this was a summons. Harry understood what Kingsley wanted him to do, but he was sure the Minister himself did not fully grasp its magnitude. Dumbledore had deliberately kept the Order ill-informed, and Harry had followed suit. How was he to tell an entire people why he had willingly walked to his execution? He had emerged from the pensive, Snape’s memories had still risen in silvery streaks, when Harry finally saw his journey up until that moment clearly. Before that, his path was winding through a thick fog, concealed even from him. It was Harry’s narrative, but it was also Dumbledore’s, and Snape’s, and Voldemort’s.

Harry tensed at these thoughts. Voldemort was finished, but death eaters and otherwise bad people lived on. To show them how it is possible to cheat death, to give them this information, this weapon… would be foolish. A person must be divorced from ordinary human emotions to successfully create a horcrux, but Harry had lost his trust in the wide wizarding public; the war had turned him cynical. More lies would have to be told, more omissions made, all for the greater good.

All of this was giving Harry a feeling of bitterness towards Dumbledore, who had abandoned him in this mess. He could not bear to face his former Headmaster’s portrait, and yet needed his guidance. He’d been struggling with so many emotions and could not make out which of them were justified, all of them manifested as real physical pains. He still had an incessant worry in his gut, one which made more sense when Voldemort was still alive, but was now more or less unfounded.

Still flustered, Harry headed to the hospital wing, hoping to run into Hermione on the way. She would know better how to ask for the potion without having to disclose too much of what exactly had been keeping him awake. Each horror dream had felt like a stab in his side, one which bleeds, bleeds…

Before he knew it, he was sitting in Madam Pomfrey’s little office, fiddling his thumbs.

“What is it I can do for you, Mr Potter?”

“I was wondering if… well, if I could have some dreamless sleep for tonight?”

Madam Pomfrey was staying silent, but he did not offer anything further.

“Mr Potter, this is quite a strong and addictive potion and while I understand you are going through a tough time, I do not usually hand it out to students. You would have to clear it with your Head of House.”

Although Harry had expected a response of that sort, he had not prepared an argument. And now that was that. He was dismissed. He wanted to scream. He knew he had no chance with McGonagall, but in desperation he needed to try. Rather than marching straight into her office however, he headed back to the Gryffindor common room, hoping to formulate a response to Kingsley.

His piece of parchment remained empty for several hours while Harry contemplated the Scottish spring rain beating on the common room windows. For once, he wished Hogwarts wasn’t in the Highlands and missed the humid May months of southern England. Even so, there was not much to do with no one around. The image of Ginny with her head in his lap popped behind Harry’s closed eyelids and he sighed. Misery had engulfed him today and had shifted his focus only on what he no longer had. It was a punishment bestowed on him (by whom?) to think of Ginny, of Hedwig, of Lupin and Tonks, and of all the ways he would never again be the boy from five days ago.

Hermione had walked into the common room and was sitting on the couch next to him. He took her hand and blinked away some tears. She let it happen without comment. The Hermione from five days ago would have endlessly fussed over him she had found him in this disordered state. Now, she picked up Kingsley’s letter and read in silence.

“Kingsley doesn’t know,” she said finally.

Harry nodded.

“We should tell him,” Hermione continued.

“Absolutely not, Hermione. There’s a reason Dumbledore didn’t.”

“I was thinking that maybe he was wrong not to do so.”

Harry knew she had a point, as he had contemplated the same himself. It still felt like betraying Dumbledore’s memory, as though everything must revolve around the great man even after his death.

As if reading his mind, Hermione continued:

“This is a new world, Harry. When all of this started, it was different for Dumbledore. He didn’t know who he could trust, so he didn’t trust anybody. You must admit it might have been easier finding the horcruxes if we had help. If we had only had one other person to bounce ideas from, someone who…”

“Someone who wasn’t a child,” Harry finished the statement.

“Yes.”

Voldemort had marked Harry, and Dumbledore had used him. The Headmaster, his only mentor, had charted his path only to the Forbidden forest, had accompanied him every step, even in Purgatory. He had provided Harry with no tools to live life outside of his identity as The Chosen One. Harry was just a boy. He had no exceptional magical abilities, nothing in terms of outstanding bravery or cleverness. He was not raised in the magical world; he was not raised at all. He was an orphan boy, only occasionally fed by his aunt and uncle who despised him. He was unable to see how Kinglsey would help the witches and wizards of Britain. He could not imagine a safe and quiet existence. He could not dream of Ginny without also dreaming of her being torn away from him, torn to pieces, left to die. Dread, dread, and more dread gnawed at him. His life had been so entwined with Voldemort’s, that now the Dark Lord was gone, Harry’s world had slowly started to fall apart.

A nightmare had startled him into consciousness the night before and just so he could keep himself awake, to be away from it, he had forced his tired eyes open and stared into the fire. Harry had tried to conjure a fantasy of a normal life. The best he could do had been to imagine living in a small apartment in Godric’s Hollow. He would be able to walk to his parents’ grave every day and sit there for hours, not speaking, not thinking, just feeling. He had imagined building some relationship with them and with the place where they had lived as a family for such a short period, such a long time ago, that hardly anyone remembered it. He had not wanted to let go of the memory of Lily and James as they had walked beside him in the Forbidden forest moments before his death. They had spoken to him and comforted him and even in their ghostly form Harry had loved them. The allure of the resurrection stone had not been lost on him and he was glad he had misplaced it. His heart was still drawing him to Godrick’s Hollow, which was silly, and predictable, and maybe also slightly dangerous. His mind had pulled the other way. Death eaters still existed; it was not out of the question some of them might go after him now that their master was done with. The lovely image of the quiet village had been replaced by one of bad people doing bad things to him and everyone he knew, again. Too tired to fight it, Harry had let it happen. The misery had flooded him again and he had passed out.

In the Common room now with Hermione, Harry felt no less panicked.

_We must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy._

It would be easy to run away from England and the responsibilities which came with becoming the saviour of the world. But should he stay and lie through his teeth? He didn’t feel like doing that. He also did not want to participate in this anymore, whatever this may be. It probably made him a coward, but so be it. For once, he would take care of himself first. This omnipresent hurt would not permit him anything else.

He explained this to Hermione and told her about the Dreamless sleep as well. She expressed concern over him taking the potion.

“I had this dream that Voldemort was back, but in the body of a snake. There are no longer horcruxes but this time he really is immortal. Me and you and Ron are hiding in a building, he’s closing in on us. Suddenly his army of inferi attack us. At the front of the pack are Lupin and Fred. They’re dead and he’s controlling them and they’re trying to kill us. I know I should shoot a spell at them, but my body is frozen, there’s no way I’m hurting these people again. So, I lower my wand and hear his laugh in my head. Just as they’re about to attack us, I wake up.

“I don’t want these images in my head. Just for a little while, if I could, I want them gone. If I have to face inferi Lupin for one more night…”

The thought didn’t need finishing. Hermione seemingly got the point, because she looked shock, and said nothing. She then got up abruptly, but with no haste, his hand still in hers. He understood they were going to McGonagall’s office.

The professor frowned slightly when they walked in. More trouble, she probably thought, when will it ever end? Harry didn’t know.

“What is it, Potter?” asked Professor McGonagall straight away; she had never been keen on formalities.

First, Harry handed her Kingsley’s letter and sat in silence while McGonagall read. Despite the fear of being vulnerable, he needed hers, _someone’s_ opinion.

“You have no duty anymore, Potter. You have done your part.”

This is all she said and then handed him back the parchment. Her eyes seemed to have softened. He understood her point, succinctly though she may have put it, and thanked her.

“There’s one more thing I need to ask you for,” he said hurriedly. She listened.

“I was…” Harry was suddenly self -conscious. “I’ve not been able to sleep at all since… since it all happened. I asked Madam Pomfrey today, but she said I needed your permission for… for some dreamless sleep potion.”

McGonagall sighed.

“You must discover how to deal with your emotions and trauma, Potter. Otherwise, you will be but half a man. Nevertheless, if there was ever a person who needed a bit of help, if there was ever such a trying time for anyone else…” she got up from her desk and walked to Harry’s armchair. In an unprecedented show of affection, she put her hand on Harry’s shoulder, like Sirius had done that night after the Triwizard tournament in Dumbledore’s office. “I will let Madam Pomfrey know she may give you the potion. Anything else would be cruelty I would not like to inflict upon you.”

Harry was crying in earnest, overcome by a slew of conflicting emotions. It felt comforting to have McGonagall and Hermione by his side, yet it made him realize how much he was missing in his life. This closeness was sporadic, and he had no one, no one who would reliably be next to him in this way. He would leave this castle and his past life, and all the gold in his parents’ vault would not buy him a companion, or a mentor.

He was grateful the two women let him compose himself before he got up and walked out of McGonagall’s office, a small note for Madam Pomfrey in hand. The rain had stopped.

Harry wrote Kingsley a short but polite note before he had lost his nerve.

_Dear Kingsley,_

_I understand what you want me to do, but I can’t. The time has come when I need to take care of myself, if only for a little bit. You probably know I will be going away with Hermione very soon, but I’ll be back before long. You say the Aurors can use me and it’s true that for a while that is where I also wanted to be. I’m not sure how to say this, but I’m done with battling evil, at least for now._

_I hope you understand._

_Harry_

He handed the note to an eagle owl, which set out on its way immediately. He looked at the spot Hedwig used to occupy in the owlery, and his heart sank for the umpteenth time today. He knew his letter to Kingsley wasn’t good, but it got the main message across. Kingsley had praised him in his own letter to Harry and suggested the boy was many great things. Ender of wars. Bringer of peace. Marked as equal by the Dark Lord.

In the end, Harry would step out of this castle in a few days probably for the last time in his life. The only place he had truly been able to call home would be left behind. He would depart from this identity thrust upon him by others. He would probably become a trained auror. He might even be a decent one. He would return as a protector, some day.

Right now, though, he was not qualified for any of it. He wasn’t ready. He was Harry.

Just… Harry.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked this, don't forget to leave kudos, or a comment. This is my second work in the Harry Potter Fandom. My first one is Wolfstar, so do give it a read if that's your cup of tea.  
> Let's face it, Harry would have major PTSD from everything that has happened to him. The "Happily ever after" from the Epilogue seems to me would have been very hard to attain. I could not imagine Harry stepping merrily away from the war and into the shoes of an auror, so that thought gave birth to this fic.  
> I recently (thanks, quarantine) re-read all the books for the first time in years. After spending so long away from these characters, they now haunt my thoughts the way they never did when I was a child.


End file.
